


We Had Something

by daftalchemist



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst and Porn, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, No happy endings, Steve Carlsberg is Not a Jerk, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Teenagers, reeducation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daftalchemist/pseuds/daftalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil's reeducation leaves Earl feeling forgotten and lost, unwilling and unable to continue living his life as he had. Steve shows him that there's more to life than being a good citizen, and Earl finds the happiness he's been chasing all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> beta thanks to sub3rduck

It’s that look that people give Earl; that quiet, sympathetic sort of pity that lets him know all of his fears have been fully realized. That sad smile, softly furrowed brows, and not-at-all reassuring nod that tells him they know, _they know_. They know it’s a loss deeper than any friendship, and not just because it had been deeper than friendship, at least for him, and _only_ for him. It’s so much more than that.

It’s the bright summer mornings spent cleaning serpent eggs out of the sandbox so they could practice inscribing incantations in the sand without fear of being bitten, and somehow being bitten anyway. They’d spend the afternoons woozily laying in the sun, waiting for the swelling to go down as Cecil grinned like a lunatic and repeated “it’s okay, Earl. We’ll get them all next time. You’ll get your Darker Incantations badge, promise”, and Earl believing every word. They never did get them all, but he did get the badge.

It’s late nights spent setting up elaborate contraptions to prank Cecil’s brother in increasingly misguided attempts at paying him back for nearly innocuous acts of sibling rivalry. They had always failed, and their failures had earned them quite a few black eyes and split lips, but it had gotten Earl his Rube Goldberg Device badge, so at least some good had come from it.

It’s the lunch periods spent sharing what little food Earl had brought in, because Cecil’s mother had forgotten his again. He’d mope and chew forlornly at whatever nearly inedible health food Earl gave him, and Earl would remind him that it wasn’t that his mother didn’t _care_ , it was that she _forgot_ to care, which was very common for adults. Cecil would grin and ask “is there a badge for that?”, and Earl would say “yes, there’s a badge for everything”. Although, if there _was_ a badge for forgetting to give your son lunch, Earl had hoped he would never earned it.

It’s that all of these moments had been shared by two people, and yet only remembered by one, and it hurts more than any blood sacrifice ever could.

It had been late in the spring of their senior, when all the flowers were beginning to wither and die in the desert sun, that Cecil had first talked about leaving. He’d see Europe, he’d said, see the world. Earl could come with him if he liked, and while Earl had to admit that he _had_ liked the sound of backpacking through unknown forests, sleeping under foreign stars, and doing all of this with the one person he cared about most, he knew it was dangerous talk. Dangerous, but harmless since he knew that Cecil wouldn’t _actually_ attempt to leave Night Vale, right?

Cecil had laughed, as he always did, about Earl’s cautious side, and Earl had laughed as well, until the next day when Cecil wasn’t in school. They’d said he’d graduated early, but he wasn’t at home either. The whispers had begun the day after; well-meaning students murmuring names into his ears as they passed in the hallway, names he had either never known or had long since forgotten. It had been perplexing, even disturbing at first, but he soon came to know them for what they were: the names of everyone who had “graduated early”, passed around like dark secrets in the halls, trying to keep the memories alive for those who had already forgotten and _been_ forgotten. It had angered Earl, the way the fearful-eyed students would wait patiently, expectantly, to hear the name he would share with them, the name of the person who would never return.

He had refused. Cecil _would_ return. And he _did_ , as they often did, but it wasn't the same.

Long hours of talking late into the night dwindle away into half-spoken sentences made in passing, always of countries that don’t exist, people who aren’t real, people who had _meant_ something to him, something more than Earl had. It seems absurd to feel jealous over someone who Earl doesn’t even know, and had probably never even _lived_ , but he feels it just the same; that piercing agony deep inside that lets him know that the friend he had waited so long to confess his love to barely even knows who he is, and hardly even cares.

He whispers his name in the halls, and the others smile sorrowfully as they nod and offer their names. It’s okay, he tells himself, because he’s just waiting for Cecil to come back to him. He’ll remember someday, and he’ll need to be remembered in the meantime. But days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months, and Cecil stays as he is: broken in a way that makes him almost unknowable.

It’s difficult for Earl. He’s spent so many years of his life being nearly surgically attached to Cecil, and he discovers that he’s lost without him. His peers spend all of their time feeling happy about the end of school, deciding what college courses they want to take, what jobs they want to apply for, which bloodstones they should purchase for their graduation rituals. Earl finds no joy in any of it. He doesn’t care what his future holds, because he already knows what it doesn’t, and he can’t stand thinking of moving past it.

There’s some leniency, at least. _Some_. He’s young, he’s nearing adulthood, he’s full of piss and vinegar and senioritis, and spring break, _woo_!, or some bullshit like that. That’s not the reality of it though, the reality only Earl knows. He doesn’t want to go to class. He doesn’t want to sit next to dead eyes and deaf ears, feeling his life slip away into the crushing black hole Cecil’s friendship tore into him when it was unceremoniously stripped away.

And that’s when he meets him.

Steve is a delinquent in the most outrageously cliched sense of the word. He finds Earl sitting behind the school, cowering in some dark corner from the horrors that monitor the halls for stragglers; just rumors, of course, but there’s no need to be suicidal while you’re trying to be rebellious. He pulls a beat-up pack of cigarettes from the pocket of an equally beat-up leather jacket: an indicator of just how dedicated he is to his badassery that he’d wear it in the relentless desert heat; temperatures in the mid-nineties and climbing every day. He puts one to his lips and takes out a dinged up, dirty zippo from the pocket of a pair of holey, acid-washed jeans tucked haphazardly into dust-covered combat boots. He stands with his back to the brick wall, staring off into the distance as though the horizon holds all the answers to why he’s so deliberately mysterious, and lights the cigarette. Or he tries to light the cigarette, but finds the problem with being vintage badass is that old zippos don’t really work as well as they should in situations like this. It takes a few tries before he gets a flame, but he does get one.

He takes a drag and hands the cigarette to Earl, sitting with his knees to his chest in the only patch of dried grass he could find around the edges of rocks and concrete. Earl doesn’t want to smoke, but he wants to talk even less, so he takes it, holding it loosely between his fingers as he watches the tip slowly burn away, turning everything to ash. He chuckles hollowly, finding the kind of similarities to one’s life that only someone who's truly felt loss can suss out from everyday occurrences. Steve raises an eyebrow at him as he lights a second cigarette, smoke trailing lazily from his lips, and gives his scout uniform a once over.

“There’s no badge for cutting class, you know,” he says dully, making an observation rather than insinuating advice, which is good because Earl isn’t looking for advice.

“Not really interested in badges,” he responds, flicking the cigarette in his fingers gently, letting the ash fall on his shoe.

Steve nods, takes another drag, curls of smoke on his lips. “Seems like you might want to wear a different shirt then.”

Earl shrugs. “I don’t own anything else. Everything in my closet gets replaced with a scout uniform.”

Steve hums thoughtfully and nods, taking another drag off his cigarette. “What if the clothes aren’t kept at your house?”

“I’ve… never thought of that. I don’t know where I would keep them though,” Earl says, and finally looks up at the other boy. “Do you think it would work?”

Steve shrugs, ash clinging to his cigarette as he neglects to flick it off, or simply doesn’t care. “Could keep them at my place and see. Would be interesting to try. You could borrow something of mine in the meantime.”

Earl leans back against the wall, stares at the cigarette in his fingers, almost completely burned away. It’s calming somehow to watch it burn, smoke trailing lazily from its tip. He holds it up as though to smoke it, but doesn’t. He just wants to feel what it would be like, to truly be the kind of person who didn’t care about council decrees and badges and what he should do with his life and the people who walk out of it. He drops the the cigarette butt on the ground and crushes it under his boot.

He looks up at the other boy, who pointedly doesn’t look at him, but Earl already knows what his words aren’t saying.

This isn’t a chance encounter between two rebels cutting class.

“You know,” he begins, staring off into nothing, because nothing is what they’re surrounded by, and nothing is what he has, “you’re not as big of a jerk as he says you are.”

“I know,” Steve replies.

“So why does he say you’re a jerk?”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s funny, but no one had ever paid Earl any attention until he’d lost Cecil, and now that he’s lost himself, they stop paying him attention again. He arrives in class wearing ill-fitting clothes after days of skipping, and he sees the sorrow in their eyes, hears their whispers in the hall. His name is on their lips, thinking he’s another who has forgotten who he is, but he hasn’t. He’s just a boy in a lot of pain wearing the charity of someone who cares enough to act like he doesn’t care, like this is normal, like he’d let _anyone_ wear his clothes if they only asked.

The teachers don’t acclimate so easily. They stare at him; their piercing gazes confused as they squawk indignantly from their gaping maws at this stranger in their classes, this stranger they weren’t told to expect. It’s true. Earl is a stranger, barely noticeable without his scout uniform, but he likes it that way. Night Vale isn’t exactly trusting of strangers, and it’s easier to be ignored than to be pitied. He doesn’t want to be pitied. He wants to forget why he needs to be pitied.

Wearing Steve’s clothes helps, but it’s not a real solution. They don’t change into scout uniforms, but they also don’t fit Earl’s style, or his body. He looks like a delinquent, and he supposes he is one now. He hardly goes to class, rarely does schoolwork. It doesn’t matter though because no one yells at him for it, gives him lower grades, detention, nothing. He doesn’t even go to scout meetings, which ends up being more difficult to get out of than he’d expected. The first time he winds up naked in the trunk of a car, covered with a scout uniform and bumping down the dirt road he knows leads to the campground, he realizes his fearful parents won’t simply let him stop going, won’t let him stop being Earl.

“Giving up already?” Steve asks when he finds him outside the school, sitting in the shade, picking at his scout uniform in frustration.

“I want to give up,” he sighs angrily. “They won’t let me. They keep sending me back.”

Steve lights a cigarette and hands it to him, lights another for himself. Earl still doesn’t smoke, but just holding it between his fingers feels comforting now. It’s a routine: he feels upset, and Steve does the only thing he’s ever done when he feels upset himself. It calms them both, standing there in silence, twin wisps of smoke trailing from their fingers, ash gathering at their feet. It’s a silence that’s deep and rich, full of meaning, and makes Earl feel as someone cares about him far more than hundreds of words ever did.

He sighs, tossing the cigarette on the ground and crushing it beneath his heel of his boot. It seems wrong somehow. Before, with… well, everything had been words and talking. His life had been full of it; endless stories about the town, the people in it, outside places that didn’t exist. Words that had been meaningless and yet had meant the world to him, hanging on each of them like they would save his life, and he supposed sometimes they had. But he’s traded it. He’s traded a lost friendship, he’s traded the comforting words, and received a comforting silence, and it feels like betrayal.

“What if you go to the meetings, and change before school?” Steve asks, pulling Earl away from his thoughts. He’s thankful for the distraction. There are some things he doesn’t enjoy having on his mind anymore.

He shakes his head, staring at the scuff marks on his boots. “That’s not something I want to keep doing. That’s not someone I want to keep being.”

“Fair enough,” Steve agrees, taking another long drag off his cigarette. “What if… you ran away?”

Earl snorts, grinning crookedly at his friend, the only one he has now. “In this town? There’s nowhere to run to, and no way to keep from being found.”

Steve nods, taking one last drag from his cigarette before tossing it away, letting it smolder and burn on the scorching hot pavement. He pulls out another one, lighting it and putting it to his lips. Earl gapes at him. He’s never done this before. He’s always had one and left it at that, trudging off back to class or… wherever it is he goes after these moments they spend together. This is unprecedented. This is different. This has to mean something.

“I… might know a place,” he murmurs hesitantly, cautiously, eyes darting around for unseen ears. “I can take you, but… only if you won’t tell anyone about it.”

Earl chuckles. “Who would I tell, Steve?”

Steve only stares hard at him in response, his second cigarette forgotten, the ash piling on the toe of his boot. Earl sighs, leans back against the brick wall.

“You know I don’t talk to him anymore,” he says, voice firm. It’s one thing for the others to remind him of that time and that life, but it’s painful to think that the person who took him away from all of that might still think of him that way too.

“He talks to _you_ ,” Steve replies, an edge of anger, or perhaps distrust, in his voice. This must be some secret he’s willing to share, and Earl feels an odd sense of guilt that someone would go so far out of their comfort zone to help him. His problems aren’t nearly that bad--not as bad as most others in this town at least--and Steve is his friend, his _only_ friend. It doesn’t feel right to make him so uncomfortable.

But he’s right; Cecil _does_ talk to Earl. Or tries to anyway. It’s an odd experience. He picks up on conversations left off years ago, drags up memories they had long since stopped discussing even before the… trip to Europe. He stares at Earl expectantly, waits for that immediate spark of friendship that had always existed between them, a spark that has already been smothered. He becomes bitter, treats Earl like he’s the one being unreasonable and weird, and then picks a new conversation to carry on with the next day, as though nothing had happened at all.

“ _He_ talks,” Earl repeats, “I don’t.”

There’s a brief pause, as there usually is. Steve isn’t great with words, but somehow that makes him so much better with them. He chooses them wisely, uses them sparingly. Everything means something, whereas some other people, well….

He doesn’t like to think about him this often. As much as Earl doesn’t want to seem affected by his past, it still calls to him, tries to lure him back into the same old routine of living every moment for every meaningless word Cecil has ever said. It’s difficult to ignore, especially while his mind is full of thoughts of his lost friend, but he knows he can’t allow himself to go back to that. There’s nothing there for him, and if he’s completely honest with himself, there never really was.

“Earl.”

The single word immediately shatters every thought in Earl’s mind, and he gazes up at Steve in shock. It occurs to him that though they’ve been friends for some months now, Steve has never said his name before. It’s… different. Desperate, like a hastily uttered prayer before the darkness overtakes the light, hoping it'll keep you safe until morning comes.

He stares at Earl, cigarette all but burning his fingers, wearing an expression Earl has never seen on him before. It’s strange, but familiar, so familiar for this town, and Earl realizes Steve looks genuinely terrified.

“He can’t know,” Steve says, his voice soft but the tremble in it still noticeable. “He’ll want to know, but he _cannot know_ , understand?”

“Steve, I… I wouldn’t tell him, I promise,” Earl insists, growing more frightened by his friend’s severe change in behavior. “I’m not like that anymore. I’m not that person; you know that.”

Steve nods, draws a long, steadying breath before tossing aside his smoldering cigarette butt. “I’m going to take you to my house.”

Earl snorts. “I’ve been to your house before.”

Steve shakes his head. “That’s not my real house. They aren’t my real parents.”

Earl gapes at the other boy, finding it hard to believe that kind of information, but, well… he knows where he lives and he knows how things operate, or at least as well as _anyone_ knows how they operate.

“What do you mean?” he asks. “Why do you have a fake house?”

Steve takes another deep breath, shaky and unsure, and Earl is can’t tell if the sweat dripping over his temple is from wearing a leather jacket in the growing desert heat, or if it’s because of the secret he’s trying to force himself to share.

“Earl,” he begins, as though the word gives him comfort, “I’ve… been to Europe.”


	3. Chapter 3

There’s no etiquette for this, at least not as far as Earl knows. Is it socially acceptable to ask someone about their re-education if they remember it happening, or is that offensive and rude? He doesn’t know, so he stays silent and doesn’t push the issue, figuring Steve will tell him when he’s ready. He remains silent as he walks through the door of what could only be called a shack on the edge of town, though he discovers that it’s quite homey inside, if not a bit warmer than he’s accustomed to. His silence continues as he’s shown all of the protective upgrades Steve has designed and installed himself. The modifications are extensive and thorough, and Earl would consider them the machinations of a severely disturbed mind if not for the fact that Steve is right to be paranoid. It’s a wonder that the SSP manages to re-educate anyone at all when they’re apparently so easily deceived by the technical ingenuity of a teenage boy.

The few rooms in the house are decorated much more nicely than Earl could have expected from someone so young, and cleaner too. Steve seems to have a very mature grasp on taking care of himself. The furniture is all real: desk, chairs, and tables where any normal teen might fill it with beanbags, inflatable furniture, and christmas lights instead of lamps. The items he find would look just as good in an adult’s house as they do in Steve’s shack.

“It’s nice,” he comments as he runs a hand over a beautiful oak table.

“I got it at police auction,” Steve replies, slumping heavily into an armchair. “It belonged to my parents. The real ones.” He looks around as though struggling to keep from getting lost in a thought he’s sunken into many times before. “All of it is.”

“Do you… have real parents anymore?” Earl asks as he settles onto the couch nestled into a corner by the armchair.

Steve pulls out a cigarette and lights it, wisps of smoke trailing up to collect against the nicotine-stained ceiling. He says nothing, and Earl understands completely.

There are more questions though, buzzing around like flies in his skull, irritating him with their persistence. Where were they taken? Are they still alive? Could they come back? Were they re-educated as well or simply disposed of? Did Cecil lose his family too? He swats them out of his mind.

Earl unlaces his boots and toes them off, pulling his legs under himself and leaning against the armrest to be a little closer to his friend, so obviously hurting. “What was, uh… Europe like?”

Steve shakes his head slowly. “I’m not going to tell you about that, Earl. That’s not something you need to know about.”

Earl bites his lip. He supposes it was ridiculous to expect to hear a real answer. “Why didn’t it work?”

Steve shrugs and takes another drag off his cigarette. “Sometimes you know very little, and they take it all away from you. And sometimes you know far too much, and no matter how much they try, they can’t scoop it all out.”

Earl nods as though he understands, but he has to admit that it’s all too unknowable for him. He supposes that’s the way it’s supposed to be: only those who have suffered through it will ever truly understand it. He considers himself fortunate, then feels incredibly guilty about it. It seems wrong to think of himself as lucky while two of his friends have been hurt.

“So what now?” he asks, wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible. The shack is nice, and he feels relaxed, completely at ease. It’s enjoyable to not have to worry about what anyone is thinking about him while he’s secreted away inside it, but he still doesn’t fully understand why Steve’s brought him there.

Unfortunately, Steve seems to know the answer to that about as well as he does as he only shrugs and sets his cigarette against a nearby ashtray.

“You can stay here,” he offers, though it sounds like a cautious invitation, as though the thought of sharing his secret home makes him nervous. His eyes darting quickly from Earl to the floor don’t exactly make the most convincing case for the contrary, and Earl can swear he sees a faint blush in his cheeks, though that could just be the heat. “I don’t spend all of my time here so I wouldn’t be in your way.”

“You’re never in my way, Steve,” Earl chuckles, and the flush in the other boy’s cheeks spreads a little farther.

Steve sighs heavily, leaning against the armrest of his chair and scratching a hand through his unwashed hair. “Regardless, you’d be safe here, and wouldn’t have to worry about your clothes, or boy scouts, or anything else. They’d wonder where you are and go lookin go for you, but….”

He raises his head, levels his eyes with Earl’s, and Earl begins to feel his own cheeks burn under that studious gaze.

“I can keep you safe, Earl,” Steve murmurs, and stays silent for just a moment before picking up his cigarette and resuming his nervous habit as though he hadn’t just peered into the depths of Earl’s soul and sussed out an answer to his deepest desire. “So, what do you say?”

Earl doesn’t know how to respond, opting to stare at the floor instead. It’s a very generous offer, very tempting,  but the thought of taking Steve up on it makes him feel incredibly guilty. Steve is his friend… his _best_ friend, and he only wants to help. Even so, this seems a bit too much to offer no matter how close they’ve become. But the thought of not accepting sends chills down his spine, and that’s even without considering the fact that just _knowing_ Steve has a protective bunker from the SSP might put him in further danger.

Or put _Steve_ in further danger for helping _him_.

But he could stay here with Steve, he knows, and he would feel happy and wanted in a way he’s never felt before, a way he often already feels. Huddled in this little shack away from people trying to intrude on his life, form him into a man he doesn’t want to become. He can hide from a life he doesn’t want to grow into, and a life he’s trying desperately to move past, and Steve will let him do those things because he cares.

Earl pulls his knees to his chest and tries to keep the smile from his lips. “Do you have running water here? Cooking supplies?”

“Don’t you boy scouts only need a pile of firewood and a box of matches?” Steve grins, loosely holding the cigarette between his fingers. “Yeah, water and food’s not a problem here. I keep it well stocked in case I need to run away suddenly.”

Earl tugs at his scout neckerchief, loosening the knot and pulling it slowly from his neck, dropping it onto the floor next to his scout-issue boots. “And what about clothes?”

“Will mine be okay?”

Earl wrinkles his nose. “There’s nothing wrong with your clothes, but… they don’t fit me, and they don’t look good on me.”

Steve puts the cigarette to his lips, averts his eyes. “I think they look great on you.”

“I’m sure you do,” Earl laughs, leaning closer to his friend and playfully poking his arm. “They’re _you’re_ clothes, after all.”

“It’s more than that,” Steve insists, then immediately flushes bright red, drops his cigarette on the floor. His panicked squawk is drowned out by the thick sole of his boot crunching the burning thing against the floor before it lights the carpet on fire, and Earl laughs the most genuine laugh he’s experienced in some months.

Steve scowls at the burn mark on the rug, such adult concerns for someone still so young, but shakes his head and turns his attention back to his friend.

“I understand that you want your own clothes,” he sighs, settling back into his chair. “I just don’t know how we’ll get them. Neither of us exactly have much money.”

Earl nods. It’s strange, but it makes him feel disappointed. He’s trying to start a new life, and he’d like new belongings to go with it. When did he become so selfish, so obsessed with material comforts?

Steve’s hand on his own brings him out of his thoughts. He’s smiling crookedly, that soft flush still in his cheeks. “Can you handle wearing my clothes just while we figure something out?”

Earl curls his fingers around Steve’s and gives them a gentle squeeze. The boy’s hand is soft, an odd contradiction to the tough facade he likes to portray, but it’s nice. The touch is firm, yet gentle. Comforting, and Earl gladly welcomes that comfort, rubbing small circles into Steve’s skin with his thumb as he smiles.

“Just so long as you don’t think I look ridiculous drowning in your giant t-shirts,” he jokes, but Steve doesn’t laugh. He gazes at Earl, his expression the very definition of sincerity.

“‘Ridiculous’ is not the word I’d use to describe the way you look, Earl.”


	4. Chapter 4

Living with Steve, if that’s what it can be considered, is an interesting experience. Earl never had brothers or sisters, so he had never known what it was like to live in close quarters with someone his own age. The closest he had ever gotten to that was the numerous times he’d spent the night at Cecil’s house, but the experience is entirely different.

Cecil had always been bursting with energy, constantly invading Earl’s space, though Earl had never truly minded. He’d _wanted_ Cecil in his space, practically ached to have him close, though it had never been in the exact manner Earl had hoped for. There had never been much sleeping either; Cecil’s propensity to talk for hours apparently strong enough to make rest seem an almost unnecessary nuisance for him. Food had been scarce in that house. After the first two visits, Earl had begun smuggling in things from his own kitchen to keep them from having to spend another weekend surviving off of a jar of salsa and dill pickles again. They would hide non-perishables in Cecil’s room, hope his mother didn’t find them and eat them herself. Nibbling on saltines into the small hours of the morning while Cecil babbled on about boys that weren’t Earl and places that weren’t Night Vale had become a weekly occurrence for them, and Earl had never seen anything wrong with that. He’d considered it similar to camping and had thought it was fun.

Steve, on the other hand… he’s courteous and thoughtful to a degree that would make any good-mannered scout envious. He offers his bed to Earl and sleeps on the couch, though it’s obvious it’s much less comfortable for him. He makes breakfast for Earl too, which is entirely unnecessary, of course, but he _insists_. The eggs are a tad runny, and the toast a little burnt, but it’s still the best meal he’s ever had from either a stove or a campfire. He offers Earl first use of the shower, let’s him choose whatever clothes he wants to wear from the limited supply in his closet. It’s baggy and comfortable, but Earl still feels silly trying to walk around in pants that barely manage to stay up on his hips. Steve insists it’s fine, but Earl is certain he’s lying because he can’t stop staring at him, though he pretends like he’s not whenever Earl catches him.

Lunch is more of the same: Steve making them sandwiches, showing him more of the shack. The inside is surprisingly larger than it appears to be from the outside, the basement dug deep into the earth and full of provisions. It’s a wonder Steve goes home at all when all he could ever need is right here, but Earl knows that he does go home, and in fact plans to do so soon.

“Why do you visit them?” Earl asks as he attempts to clean his plate in the sink. Steve, of course, takes it from his hand as he had after breakfast, not allowing his new guest to do any chores. “They’re not even your real parents.”

“They don’t know that,” Steve explains calmly, rinsing the crumbs from the dish and setting it on a drying rack. “They think I’m their son. That I always have been.” He smiles crookedly. “They also think I’m a disappointment.”

Earl snorts, pushes the sleeve of his, or rather  _Steve's_ , t-shirt up onto his shoulder again. The damned thing keeps slipping off, making him feel like a girl constantly fixing an ill-fitting bra strap. Steve’s eyes on him don’t help him feel any less awkward, and the slight choking sound from his throat make Earl roll his eyes.

“Stop laughing at me,” he sighs. “It’s not _my_ fault you managed to have broader shoulders than a seasoned scout.”

Steve’s cheeks redden immediately and he sputters, “I’m not laughing!”

Earl ignores his indignation, opting to change the subject instead. “When will you go back?”

Steve leans heavily back against the counter and stares at his barefeet. He, at least, looks presentable. The shirts that look more like tunics on Earl hug Steve’s body nicely, showing off the faintest hint of muscle that he had apparently developed doing whatever physical labor he could find pay for around town. Earl had always prided himself on his own strength. Years of surviving in the wilderness on camping trips had made him more than just a little physically fit, but he finds that he doesn’t mind looking weak compared to Steve. He respects his friend’s dedication to supporting his secret life, and, well… he’s certainly not hard on the eyes.

At the moment, however, there’s no strength in Steve, just a slight uncertainty. He runs a hand through his hair--his nervous habit when cigarettes aren’t nearby--and sighs loudly. “At the end of the weekend. I should make an appearance at school too. It’s been a while. I have work to hand in, keep my grades afloat.”

Earl bites his lip and stares at his own feet, almost swallowed whole by a pair of borrowed sweatpants that would be showing off far more of his hips than he’d like if not for the oversized t-shirt draped over his torso. “Should I go back too?”

“Is there a reason for you to?” Steve asks, and when Earl looks back up again he sees that the other boy is studying his face with great concern.

Earl shrugs, the t-shirt slipping down again. “I haven’t been at school in a while either, and… it’s weird to stay here without you, isn’t it? This isn’t my shack.”

“ _Cabin_ ,” Steve corrects for the thousandth time, and Earl rolls his eyes as he grins.

“Yes, cabin, _whatever_ ,” he replies, shifting his weight and leaning his hip against the counter. “The point is that this isn’t my home, and I’d feel like an invader if I stayed here alone.”

Steve’s fingers are in his hair again, and his eyes on his feet. He’s incredibly ill at ease for someone secure inside the walls of his own sanctuary. “I know, but… it _can_ be your home. If you want it to.”

Earl would be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. The idea of staying here, of never having to go to scout meetings again, of being safe and tucked away from the people who think he’s already a walking reminder of how easy it is to steal a person’s life away. No one would miss him, he’s sure of it. Not even his own parents, which seems terrible, but knows it’s safer for them. Earl’s behavior puts them in danger, and he hardly blames them for forcibly making him conform. He just hates it, as any lost and confused boy his age would, and needs to push against it as hard as he can.

Even so, it’s a big step. He’s independent enough, sure. Scouting had seen to that. The desert wilderness of Night Vale is no joke, after all, but this is different. This isn’t keeping a fire lit through a dust storm, or wrestling your dinner away from a giant lizard. This is creating a life for himself, and _living_ it, and it frightens him, because for all his independence in the scrublands, he’s never needed to use it at home. His parents may be fearful, but they’ve always been good at what they did. They don’t deserve a son who runs off without telling them why. And, well….

There’s a tugging in his chest, a feeling he wants to ignore because he knows it’s from a life he’s decided to stop living. But it’s there and it’s growing stronger with each passing moment that he considers Steve’s offer, because as much as he’d love to hide away in this house with his friend… there’s someone else that Earl doesn’t want to make worry, even though he’s not entirely sure he _will_. It’s an awful feeling; he’d hoped that he’d moved past that already. It’s been so long since Cecil’s been back, and every moment of it has been like nails on a chalkboard to Earl. He doesn’t want to hear his voice, see his face, remember being his shadow for so many years, but… the thought of disappearing and never telling him why makes him feel guilty, and the thought of choosing to never see him again makes him feel uncomfortable. It’s a bad habit he’s formed, he realizes. He’d needed Cecil in his life so badly for so long that removing him from it was a somewhat frightening prospect.

“Earl?”

He looks up and almost jumps out of his skin. He’d been so long in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Steve moving so close to him. He grins crookedly and shakes his head before leaning forward and pressing his forehead to Steve’s chest, feeling the other boy stiffen, at a loss for what to do. The awkwardness only lasts a moment before Steve loosely wraps his arm around Earl’s shoulders.

“I shouldn’t stay here,” Earl says at length, when the silence has become too much. “Not until I get things sorted out. With my parents and all, you know. School too, I guess.” He looks up at Steve and smiles. “It’s a generous offer, but not one I can take you up on just yet.”

Steve nods, understanding though his face is the very picture of disappointment.

“The offer stands though. You can always come back,” he says, and his voice sounds like someone has just beaten his dog with a shovel.

Earl nudges him gently and laughs, putting on his best smile. “It’s not like I won’t come here in the meantime. And besides, we still have a weekend before we split up again. Don’t look so sad, Steve.”

Steve’s frown is immediately replaced by a deep blush, and he steps back as though he’s suddenly realized how close he is to the other boy. “It’s not that I’m sad! I’m just… worried, I guess.”

Now it was Earl’s turn to place a reassuring hand over Steve’s. “You don’t have to worry about me. I was self-reliant a long time before you let me take over your secret home.”

Steve rolls his eyes, groaned, “You didn’t take over my home.”

“Well, I took over your bed at any rate,” Earl says, correcting himself.

“I only have the one!”

Earl laughs. “Steve, I think you’re forgetting how much time I’ve spent crammed next to other people in tents.”

He leaves out the part about _which_ people he’d spent his time pressed against. People who hadn’t even really been scouts. People who had just tagged along because their mother was just gone for another weekend, and it was better than staying home alone. People who had often showed up without warning in the middle of the night, their presence unknown until they were squeezing themselves into Earl’s sleeping bag, complaining about the cold and insisting he move over and make room.

“Okay, okay,” Steve sighs, “You go back and take care of whatever you need to Monday, but just remember this place will be here waiting for you.”

He reaches out gently and pushes Earl’s fallen sleeve back into place on his shoulder. His fingers linger for a moment longer than they should, and when they brush briefly over Earl’s bare collarbone, he’s surprised at the sudden tightness in his chest, but even more surprised at the tightness he experiences somewhere lower than that.

Earl smiles, and Steve smiles back. The smile on Steve’s face isn’t enough to balance out the hurt in his eyes though, as though he’d been forced to remember something he thought he’d be able strike clean from his mind. Earl understands completely.


	5. Chapter 5

The first weekend Earl spends in Steve’s cabin is the first time he can remember feeling so completely relaxed in his life, and he’s grateful for it. Each day they do nothing but lay around, talk, play games, make food, and simply exist with no responsibilities weighing on their consciences. Steve sleeps on the couch and complains about a sore neck, while Earl wears clothes two sizes too big and trips over the hems of his pants. Earl pretends not to notice how often he catches Steve glancing at the sweatpants slipping from his narrow hips, and Steve turns down every offer for a neck rub Earl gives him.

“But I have a merit badge therapeutic massage,” Earl insists, sighing exasperatedly, just wanting to help. “If you’re going to insist on sleeping on the couch, at _least_ let me insist on helping you loosen up.”

“You have a merit badge for _everything_ ,” Steve retorts. “That doesn’t mean you should use all of them.”

It’s such a wonderful time, but the uneasiness that begins to settle in as Sunday grows closer puts Earl more on edge than ever before. There’s nothing for them to worry about, not really. They’ve been delinquents for a while now: skipping class together, running away from home together, ignoring civic responsibilities together. Nothing will change that, and nothing will force them to change. Things will continue on as they have been, but there’s a difference now, and they both feel it. Earl assumes it’s just that they’re both feeling happier hiding away from their lives like this. It’s fun to pretend like the world isn’t out there just waiting to crush the breath out of them, tear them apart, send them back to their real lives. But it is waiting, and they have to face it soon. It’s an illusion that can’t last, no matter how much they’d like it to.

Steve worries more and more with each passing hour as well, his nervous habit becoming increasingly worse. The whole cabin smells like smoke, and thick clouds of it cling to the ceiling. It gets so bad that Earl begins stealing the unlit cigarettes right from Steve’s fingers. At first he protests, shouting his frustration and attempting to snatch them back, but then he begins to smile, realizing how silly he must look to be chain-smoking his anxiety away like that. It doesn’t stop though, only slows for a time, then it becomes worse. Angry outbursts replace annoyed chuckles, and soon Earl returns all of the stolen cigarettes, unwilling to watch his friend suffer emotionally while he attempts to keep him from suffering physically. Before long Steve has to rush out to buy more, leaving Earl to sit in the cabin alone and wonder if he’s doing the right thing.

Steve’s offer is generous: a life of safety, so long as Earl doesn’t mind a life lived in hiding. He supposes he doesn’t. In truth, he enjoys feeling safe to be himself, and not even the guilt of taking advantage of his friend can really sway that feeling. The problem is the gnawing in his chest that tells him it’s wrong somehow. He’s always been the good son, the good friend, the good scout. He’s always thought he would grow into a good scoutmaster, and, well… he had _hoped_ he’d become a good boyfriend too. He looks around the empty cabin, all of its comforts and certainties, and he knows that even now he finds it difficult to throw away those silly dreams. Dreams he doesn’t even really _want_ anymore; dreams he’s had for so long that it’s hard to replace them with anything else. He spends so long lost in thought that he barely notices two hours have gone by and Steve has not yet returned.

He shouldn’t have a reason to worry. Steve is used to this life and used to living it on his own, if the thoroughness of the cabin’s security is any indication. He most likely just got held up by a friend, or needed to take an extra long route back to make sure he wasn’t followed. Earl knows all about the complexities of losing a tail. He has the merit badge, after all. But Sunday afternoon rolls on with no sign of Steve’s return, and Earl’s fears grow with the oncoming darkness of the evening. He realizes that for all of Steve’s talk, he doesn’t actually know how safe the cabin truly is. The SSP could be watching it at all times, for all he knows. They could have picked up Steve the moment he was out of earshot, just waiting for Earl to poke his head out the door to look for his friend so they could drag him away too. Away from this veil of safety he’d spent a weekend in, and away from a friend who had saved him when everything had seemed hopeless. Away to be re-educated and reformed and set free into Night Vale to be good little citizens.

Earl begins to wonder how far away the cabin is from the nearest drug store, and how long it should take Steve to make it there and back, but he hadn’t taken much stock of their surroundings when they’d first made the trip here. He curses himself for it, knows better than to go blundering into a situation without finding the exits. He is a scout; he’s supposed to be prepared at all times for all things.

It grows darker, and still Steve doesn’t return. Earl can’t help but believe the worst has happened, though he can’t decide if the worst is death, re-education, or simply being abandoned by someone he trusts. The last option, at least, seems the least likely after how much Steve has given him, but the other two….

It’s a strange feeling. The thought that he might not have anymore friends is upsetting, of course, but somehow it’s the thought that he might not have _Steve_ as his friend any longer that really gets to him. With Cecil it had been different. There had been pain, and a lot of it, but in the end it had become obvious that nothing was really all that different. Cecil had always been a good friend, but his mind had never occupied the same plane of reality as Earl’s. His head had always been filled with thoughts of Night Vale and the world around it, whereas Earl’s had been full of Cecil. It had been an agonizing blow, but when he had gotten right down to it, there had really been no difference between Cecil never again remembering how much Earl had cared and Cecil never even acknowledging how much he had cared to begin with.

But Steve had always cared, still cares, and Earl realizes that he also cares more than he’d ever thought he did.

When the door finally opens, the only thing Earl can see through the tears is a strong silhouette against a starry void, dropping multiple bags on the floor as it rushes to his side.

“Earl?” Steve asks, voice laced with panic as he climbs onto the couch, gathering the crying boy into his arms and cupping his face gently. “Are you all right? What happened?”

Earl doesn’t want to answer, knowing that his voice will shake and his words will be nothing more than gasped mutilations of what he wants to say, how he feels. He feels foolish in his inability to handle being alone, like his first overnight with the scouts all over again, only this time he’s older and should know better. He shouldn’t be afraid, but he _is_ afraid, more than he’s ever been in his life. Maybe because now he understands what he should be afraid of, or maybe because now he has reasons to fear, things to lose. His whole life he’d felt that he could handle any situation; a decorated scout should be able to do so much as that. But in the end, feeling unstoppable is so much different than being unstoppable, and he’s never had that certainty about himself tested before.  

He shakes his head and sniffles, trying to steady his breath, but it’s not as easy a task as it seems though his fears have mostly passed.

“You were gone… so long,” he finally manages to choke out, voice blessedly calmer than he had expected. “I thought… I don’t want to be alone anymore, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes widen and he holds his friend close. “I’m sorry, Earl. I’m not used to having someone waiting for me. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“I didn’t know why you were taking so long, or… or where you _were_ , and,” Earl trails off, wiping the tears from his eyes. He takes a steadying breath, trying to force himself calm. “I’m not as okay with this as I thought, I guess. Running away and everything.”

Steve worries at his lip, strokes Earl’s damp cheek. “It’s okay. I can make it okay. I’ll get a phone to keep here. You won’t have to worry about me, and I won’t have to worry so much about you, and--”

“Steve, please,” Earl insists, grasping his shirt. “You don’t need to spend that kind of money. I’ll be fine--I _will_ \--but for now it’s just… an adjustment.”

He bites his lip and stares up into Steve’s eyes, feeling very guilty for how much he’s made Steve worry in so short a time after Steve had treated him so wonderfully. He hadn’t done anything wrong, after all. From the looks of things, he’d just spent longer getting them more supplies.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, burying his face against Steve’s chest to hide his embarrassment. He smells like dust and tobacco, and it’s comforting. “I shouldn’t have overreacted like that. I know you wouldn’t actually leave me.”

Steve stiffens then wraps his arms around his friend, resting his chin on his head. “No, I never would.”

That night, Steve joins Earl in bed without saying a word, keeping his distance beneath the covers. Just his presence is enough to make Earl feel more at ease than he has in a long while, though his gut keeps twisting in pleasant knots, and his heart refuses to stop racing.

Sometime during the night Steve’s arm finds its way around Earl’s waist, his chest pressed to Earl’s back, and Earl is more than willing to pretend he’s too tired to object to the sudden closeness.


	6. Chapter 6

School is the same, though that’s hardly a surprise. No one acts as though Earl has been missing classes or wearing clothes other than those expected of him. No one asks him how he’s been or talks to him about homework or so much as looks at him at all, but he doesn’t mind. It’s easier this way; to slip seamlessly from one half of his life into the other. He doesn’t want the fuss of forced explanations and endless lies, or people worrying about him needlessly. It’s easier to believe that he’s not in any danger when no one bothers him, though it’s likely that he really is. This is still a better way of living for him though, and he prefers thinking it’s possible everyone could just be happy for him.

As the day wears on, however, it seems obvious that it can’t be as simple as that.

It starts as somewhat angry stares that Earl catches out of the corner of his eye, never really knowing why they’re being directed at him. There are things whispered; things about him, things that no one should even be talking about because no one should know or care. About how he doesn’t go to scout meetings anymore, how he doesn’t go home anymore. It’s as though someone, after so much time, has finally taken offense at his actions, and has decided everyone else should too. And it works, perhaps because he’s acting so much more like he used to before he became a responsibility-dodging delinquent, yet not quite enough to let him slip under the radar.

This wouldn’t normally be a problem, but the whole point of leaving Steve’s cabin had been to act like a good student and good citizen for a little while. He can’t just duck out of class and hide in the shade of the back of the building as he always had. He has work to catch up on, homework to hand in, an academic career to pretend to have, but he swears he can hear his name on every pair of lips in the cafeteria, and it begins to frighten him. People are noticing him in a way they never have before, not even when he was still the good scout who got straight A’s and spent every weekend camping. It’s puzzling; there’s no reason for anyone to care, and has never been. Not before he lost Cecil, and certainly not since then.

He tries to ignore it, but one of the drawbacks of being a scout in Night Vale is having it almost literally drilled into your mind that you need to constantly be alert for things that seem wrong, because there are always things that seem wrong in Night Vale. Unfortunately, none of those lessons ever taught him how to handle high school gossip. Apparently that just hadn’t been on the minds of whoever or whatever had written the original scout guide. There are, at least, many lessons on keeping your head down, so that’s what he does: keeps his head down, makes himself scarce, makes it through lunch, through the halls, through classes. The day begins to come to an end, and he breathes a sigh of relief knowing that if he just makes it back to the cabin, he won’t have to worry about any of this anymore.

His locker slamming shut as he tries to put away his books tears him from this delusion, and when he turns to glare at the person who has closed it, he can’t help but stare, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

“Rough day?” Cecil asks, and finally everything begins to make sense. Earl sets his lips into a hard line and begins putting in his locker combination again.

“You would know, I suppose,” he says, and though his voice is hard, some part of him deep inside his chest feels almost like crying.

“Going over to _his_ house?” Cecil asks as he petulantly slams his back against the locker next to Earl’s, crossing his arms and grimacing so severely that Earl almost wonders if he’d sucked on a lemon to allow him to show that level of distaste. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with _him_ lately, you know.”

The part of Earl that feels like crying reaches outward, tightening his lungs and knotting his stomach, but he refuses to let it put tears in his eyes. He opens his locker door brusquely, using it to block the sight of Cecil’s annoyed expression.

“I hadn’t noticed,” he lies through grit teeth as he puts away his books.

Just as the last book disappears inside, Cecil slams it shut again, pressing his hand heavily against the cold metal and _fumes_. His cheeks are flushed dark purple, that odd color that Earl had always marveled at but had never had the courage to ask about.

“Well I _have_ noticed!” he shouts, stepping closer, crowding Earl against the wall of metal doors until he feels the locks digging into his back. “I thought _I_ was supposed to be your friend, Earl. Why does that _jerk_ get to spend so much time with you instead of me?”

Earl stares at him for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound broken and empty, a reaction from being slapped in the face with the most obvious of realizations. It’s incredible that after so much time, _this_ is when Cecil notices him. When Earl has finally dealt with their failure of a friendship, when he’s moved on and found someone who cares about him as more than a convenience, _that_ is when Cecil Palmer finds the time to pull his head out of his ass and notice him.

“What’s so funny?” he demands, but Earl doesn’t care to explain. It’s pointless; it always has been. Cecil had never truly been his friend. More like a social parasite; something that sees the benefit of knowing others, of befriending them, and goes through the motions of being kind so he can receive his end of the exchange, nothing more.

Earl waves the question away and straightens, choking out the last few shattered bits of humor the situation has to offer before setting his expression into something halfway between bemusement and relief at knowing he never meant something to someone who never should have meant anything to him.

“If you’re _supposed_ to be my friend,” he begins, tone calm and even, “then you might want to consider acting like it.”

He doesn’t give Cecil a chance to respond, instead walking away to the sound of him sputtering angrily. Somewhere in his mind, he hopes that Cecil truly hears what he says, sees the error of his ways, and fixes it. The rest of him, however, knows it’ll never happen, and in a way Earl almost feels bad for him. It must be difficult no longer having the same friend he can walk all over or constantly expect adoration from. It’s sad, but not sad enough to make Earl turn around, to see the anger or pain--or perhaps both--in his eyes. He doesn’t want to, and not because it will make walking away harder. No, of course not.

Steve’s smiling face greets him outside of the school, and all of the day’s events--especially the most recent ones--immediately wash away. It’s a different smile, or perhaps it’s the same smile it’s always been, but brighter somehow. It’s like a shadow that had been dragging behind Earl for so long has finally lifted, and he can see everything his world view had been distorting as they really are. Steve is kind and warm, attractive even. He’s waiting here for Earl, waiting to take him somewhere safe. To protect him, because he believes Earl is worth protecting. And despite all of this, he’s never asked Earl for anything in return, and it makes his heart so unbearably light.

He bounds over to Steve, looping their arms together, and returns Steve’s smile, though Steve’s expression turns into something more like bemusement.

“Good day?” he asks, glancing quizzically at their arms, locked together with so much more familiarity than they’ve ever shared in public. He doesn’t, Earl notes, complain though, or try to pull away. He’s content to let Earl be as close as he wants to be, to let Earl be _anything_ he wants to be.

This is how it should be with a friend. Open and honest. Supporting one another, but always instead of just sometimes. It’s what Earl had wanted all along with Cecil, but has only gotten from Steve, and it seems very obvious to Earl who is truly the jerk.

He gives Steve’s arm a squeeze, pressing it closer to his chest. When the soft flush appears in the other boy’s cheeks, he can’t resist the urge to get on his tiptoes and kiss it brighter. Steve gapes at him as though shocked, but his eyes read a much different emotion, like the prospect of happiness has turned into a promise, and he can’t decide if he feels more joy or gratitude. To be honest, Earl can’t help but feel the same way, and somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, he wonders how long he’s felt so happy with Steve, and why he didn’t think to embrace it sooner. Steve touches his cheek gingerly, almost reverently, where Earl has kissed it, as though he needs to feel the memory of it to believe it actually happened, and Earl can’t help but smile wider at his reaction.

“Not at all,” he says, though his words are at a severe contrast with the joy in his expression. He gives Steve’s arm a soft tug. “Do you want to go home?”

It takes Steve a moment to collect his thoughts, but when he does, he smiles wide and genuine. “Didn’t you have some things you needed to take care of first?”

“Already taken care of,” Earl responds, catching an angry, purple-flushed face out of the corner of his eye. “I’m free.”

Steve reaches out hesitantly and brushes the back of his fingers against Earl’s cheek, and Earl feels himself blush just as brightly as Steve is. “Then let’s go home.”


End file.
